


Regret

by moodiful819



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodiful819/pseuds/moodiful819
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thought he had time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by NCIS “Grace Period.” If any of you guys watch NCIS, you will know what pain you are in for and I completely blame the show for making me write this.

_He thought he had time._

The mission they were on was dangerous. All of them generally were, but this mission especially so. They were fighting in the dead of night, outgunned and out-manned all in the name of secrecy  _because no one is supposed to know we did this, understand Hatake?_

It was a suicide mission they were going on—they all knew—but it had to be done. And if it had to be done, it was going to be done by the best that Konoha had to offer. 

_Team 7 had set off on a bright sunny day._

When they left that morning, Kakashi had his reservations. As team leader, as their mentor, as their friend, it was expected of him. Their chances of survival were low, no matter the outcome, but Kakashi was a lucky man and they were a talented group. If anyone could survive this mission alive, it was his team—and if anyone was going to die on this mission, it was going to be him.

_Blood spurts through the wet sound of his breathing._

This mission had been a bad idea from the start. She had told him that. His past two missions had ended in injury. He was still recovering from a torn shoulder ligament and a dislocated knee. He was supposed to be resting in a hospital bed, not gallivanting through the woods and rain in his condition.

"I only healed your injuries, not cured them," Sakura had complained briskly.

His response was a smile, a laugh, and his hand laid fondly on top of her head, savouring as his fingers tussled her soft pink hair.

"You worry too much. I’m fine."

_They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die._

He feels the memories lash through him, tearing through his irises like sharp, serrated knives. Whatever isn’t already sore, broken, or bleeding is now being cut apart by the images in his head. He can feel his pupils focusing, shifting, flickering in his head as they play out, endless reels where he leaves and comes back broken and bruised and in a hospital bed with her sighing and huffing and worrying at his side. It’s an old dance, but he’s even older and getting older still. He won’t last much longer. The game of escaping the hospital bed and cheating death are getting harder; she’s catching him more often and he’s coming back worse every time.

Maybe there won’t even be a next time.

It’s a thought that hovers at the back of his mind, just beyond his periphery. He’s usually good at keeping away, but recently it’s become louder, persistent. As persistent as the voice in his head demanding that he just say it outright, just tell her that he loves her. He’s come close multiple times, but every time they reach the top of the hill or the foot of the gate or wherever she is seeing him off at, he freezes, instead ruffling her hair affectionately as he bites his tongue and tries to keep the regret from slipping out of his fingers into her soft pink locks. 

He’ll tell her another day, he tells himself.

Because Kakashi is a lucky bastard, and while the game is getting harder, he will most certainly survive another day.

_The labored breathing continues, wet, harsh, painful._

The ground is thick with blood. 

Rain runs into his wounds, stinging him as the mud turns to soup beneath him. Around him, blades lay broken and shattered, stuck in bodies and trees. Even with the rain dampening the smell, the scent of copper remains heavy in his nose and his hair droops from the weight of the water. In the back of his mind, the habits of his years as an Anbu captain continue unhindered. Instinct runs rampant in his head. He should be scoping the area, securing the area, but it’s all he can do to just stay where he is and look into her dull, dazzling eyes.

_"You have beautiful eyes."_

It was something he’d wanted to tell her for a while, one of the many things that he had split between his tongue and teeth when he’d held himself back. If he were honest with himself, her eyes were one of his favorite things about her. He loved their color, their shape; he loved the way they lit up when she was happy, and the way they sparkled in the sun. He’d wanted them to be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night for years. Somewhere in his apartment, there was even a box of jewelry for her, paychecks and paychecks worth of necklaces and bracelets and earrings he’d gotten her because he thought they would complement her eyes.

Even now, all he could think of was how sad he always felt when he watched her watch him leave. Watched the slow burn of the sun behind her that set her hair ablaze as he wondered if this was going to be the last time he’d ever see her again. He wanted to freeze that moment  from two months ago in his head. She had been so beautiful that day… She was beautiful everyday, but that day on the hilltop, she’d made him ache to his bones in her perfection.

But the blood loss is making the image fuzzy in his head. Already, he’s losing the image of her eyes, brilliant and burning, and try as he might, he cannot recall it for the life of him. He’s losing her all over again.

_But he can’t tear himself away._

In. Out. Innnn. Out-t-t-t. The air hits their teeth like wind-beleaguered shutters.

Matching her, his breathing thins into a spindly, paper-thin rasp. Having watched long enough, he’s timed his breathing with hers, mirroring her gasp for gasp, rattle for rattle. Rain drips into his eye, and only slowly, reluctantly does he blink it away, unwilling to tear his gaze away from her face. Across her cheek is a smatter of blood, but he can’t tell if it’s his or hers, only that it brings out the green in her eyes.

His breathing is shallow.

With every rasp she gives, he is barely getting enough oxygen to his brain. The ground underneath him is turning into soup, pouring into his sandals and freezing him in mud the color of red wine. The urge to hold her suddenly seizes him, to press her tightly against him and feel her hair once again under his gloved hand. He wants to kiss her, cradle her head in his hands, and wonder how he ever got so close to her when he’s always been so afraid; he wants to have and to hold her…

But his hand is too heavy to lift, and all he can do is sit there and watch her die.

Unwillingly, his gaze trails below her chin to the snapped blade of a sword sticking up from her chest, right underneath her collarbone. To the place where he should’ve been stabbed if she hadn’t pushed him away.

On his chest lies the ghost of her hand—he can still feel its warmth despite the cold, can still feel where she pushed the last of her chakra in to seal the hole in his lung, burning his skin in a last-ditch healing flare, and he hopes the scars will be permanent. Her hand etched over his heart.

A bubble of blood interrupts his mimicry, red froth staining his teeth as he hacks uncomfortably against a tree. Underneath the rain, he can hear the rapidly-approaching footsteps of Sai and Naruto, but strains his ears to hear the pained wheezes of the girl not even a foot away. Quickly, the metal taste in his mouth is eclipsed by regret, tasting colder than he could have ever imagined as it coats his tongue.

A hitch in her faint breathing sends his eyes rushing back to her face, watching as her pupils suddenly dilate, air wheezing thinly between her pale lips as the pinkie and ring fingers on her left hand twitch sporadically. Death is creeping into her skin.

Eyes glazed and unfocused, she trains them in his general direction, fearful and pleading. She doesn’t want to die alone, and he knows that. He knows she’s still afraid of being left behind—of being left alone by her team—which makes the fact he can’t touch her all the more unbearable. If he could, he would give up his arm—his leg—his life to hold her hand right now and see her through this, but exhaustion and blood loss have paralyzed him. He can barely even move his finger.

So instead, he watches her, desperately keeping eye-contact with her in the hopes that she can see him and see him still there with her. He wants to let her know he won’t leave her side, that she won’t be alone. That they’ll bring her home to her parents. That she’ll be safe.

But he knows as soon as he speaks, he won’t be able to stop, and the last thing she needs right now is to be burdened by his guilt and missed opportunities. He loves her more than she could ever know, but that will be his burden and his burden alone.

So instead, he stares and watches and waits and hopes that she understands. And somehow, some way, she does.

At twenty years old, Haruno Sakura dies with a smile on her face.

Her passing is peaceful; she slips into death between rasping breaths. Leaning against the tree, Kakashi sighs then stills as he takes her in for the last time, admiring her bravery in the face of death and her strength. Despite the pain he can still see pricked at the edges of her eyes, her expression is relieved, thankful that he stayed with her until the end. She has done her village a great service; Tsunade, despite her grief, would be proud.

He should feel happy, he knows this. He helped his student pass into death peacefully; their mission has been accomplished. Their team has, for the most part, survived; and Kakashi has lived to see another day. Even if he hates to think it, Sakura died saving him. He is lucky to be alive—especially with this mission’s odds and especially at his age. He should be thankful…

But all he can see is a young woman cut down in her prime, the dead body of a great friend and the woman he loves.

Breathing shallow and stare blank, regret sinks further down Kakashi’s throat, settling in dark bitter weights beneath his chakra burns. Even as Naruto and Sai arrive on-scene, screaming, sobbing, consumed in quiet grief in the carnage, everything reduces to one thought, pinned by Sakura’s glassy stare and fond, loving smile.

_It should have been him._


End file.
